Relief
by Goddess Isa
Summary: Abby has reasons, you know...


TITLE: Relief  
AUTHOR: Goddess Isa  
EMAIL: goddessisa@aol.com  
SUMMARY: Abby has reasons, you know...  
RATING: TV-14 for language :)  
SPOILER: S2 throughout, but most of this is all me  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Abby, Kevin Williamson does. Did. Whatever.  
DISTRIBUTION: feel free. Some year, my own site will be up.  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I found parts of this on an old disk and this is what it became. Enjoy.  
8-2-01  
  
  
  
"You're a crazy man, you know that?" I yelled. Dr. Collins - was I supposed to be calling him Dr. Collins? I know I was having one of my episodes when he introduced himself, but I sort of remember hearing something about "Mark".   
  
"Crazy, huh?" he laughed. I don't like his laugh. "I've never been called that before."   
  
I didn't have to look at him to know he was being facetious. To me, the reason people go to see shrinks is because they don't have any problems and they need someone to invent them for them. Me, I've got problems. Tons of them. I have the rape. I have facing Jared every day at school. I have Jen and everyone else all of a sudden liking me. Yeah, sure, they're problems and they suck, but I don't need this idiot trying to tell me what else I have to deal with.   
  
"You know, Abbigail--"   
  
"My great grandmother doesn't even call me Abbigail."   
  
"You know Abbigail," he repeated in his voice, so full of saccharine that I could've died from a sugar attack right there. "There are worse things in life that admitting you need help."   
  
"Then why don't you try it sometime?" I smiled a phony smile.   
  
"You want to make this hard on me, don't you Abbigail?"   
  
"You're the one who is making it hard. You know, on second thought, my mother is making it hard. She made me come here in the first place." The selfish bitch. She thinks making me come here makes her look good. Takes some of the responsibility off of her because she raised a "loser" of a daughter. Sorry, Mom. Can't put all the blame on you.   
  
I'm a bitch because I like being a bitch, and because the world around me is fucked up. Why should I put up with it when I don't have to?"  
  
"Your mother was right," Dr. Collins said in a serious voice. "ou need some help. You're not facing your problems, you're skirting them."   
  
That was it. I grabbed my bag and stormed out before he could say anything, leaving behind my mother's expensive leather jacket. Once outside, I ran to the fountain in the park. I sat on the cold cement, breathing hard. The drips of water that occasionally hit my skin were ice cold, but I didn't care. I needed the release, even if it came in the form of eventually getting pneumonia.   
  
"You say I don't face my problems?" I asked no one. The city was cluttered with people, and I was being loud but no one cared enough to even look. "I still go to school. I still gotta face him every fucking day.  
  
"I have to sit in class, and see him act all tough because he knows that he's getting away with it. That bastard can walk and laugh at me and no one cares what he did!" I was standing on the edge of the fountain, shouting now. A few people were looking, but most of them were just going on about their day. Nobody has five minutes for Abby. Not even my mother.   
  
"Who says I don't face things head on! I have a class with that bastard for God's sakes! I have to look at him and know what he did and when I see him with another girl, I have to fear that it's going to happen to her too." I sat back down, pulling my head to my knees as I sobbed. I was quite wet from the water now, and the air was making me freeze. I made no moves to leave or even get out of the way of the fountain.   
  
"Maybe I'm not as strong as Joey," I said quietly. "But I'm strong enough to go on. I'm living, aren't I? You go through that and you tell me how you'd feel. How you'd go on."   
  
  
*****   
  
  
Of course, Mom was gone when I got home. I don't even know where she goes anymore. No lawyer works that much. Well, my dad does, but he's a different kind of lawyer than Mom, and he actually makes the big bucks whereas she just gets in the papers. They're a perfect match, really.   
  
Lucy was in the kitchen, making chicken breasts and cornbread stuffing, what used to be one of my favorites. I didn't have to heart to tell her I couldn't eat, so I simply told her I was going up to rest for awhile and would be down later. It was half the truth.  
  
It was just a foolish idea when I got the pills. Something I did just to see if I could do it. Once it was done, there was a new task. Maxing out one of Mom's credit cards, or getting a tattoo.  
  
The pills had been long forgotten, but now, they were needed.  
  
I took a pudding cup out of my fridge--fat free, of course--and opened it, licking the foil wrapper before pitching it. Then I grabbed a pistol from my makeup mixing kit and began mashing the pills.  
  
They made such a pretty white powder. It was impossible to tell how many I'd mashed because I'd take a pill every now and then to sleep off a hangover. The pile of powder before me was substantial though, large enough to fill two spoonfuls.  
  
It didn't take long to mix it into the pudding, not long at all. I put on a Beck CD as loud as it would go, and started eating.  
  
When sleep came, it was like a dark cape being pulled over my eyes.  
  
It was relief, and that was all that mattered.


End file.
